Arthur and Freya
by NikkiJustTalk
Summary: 'Merlin' 'Yes...' 'Who was she' ...Arthur/Merlin...Merlin/Freya... oneshot if no one likes it, longer if people do :
1. Chapter 1

Once. Just this once, Arthur wanted a hunting trip that involved nothing but that. Hunting. Never mind impressing foreign princesses, attacking unicorns or fussing over sacred shrines, hunting was a primal instinct, used to divide the men from the boys in their quest for dominance over an arrow. It was in his blood, he was a born hunter.

'It's in my blood' He boomed smugly over his shoulder to Merlin, '…I'm a born hunter'. 'A born killer, you mean?' an obnoxious voice replied, jolted slightly by the soft movement of hooves beneath him. Arthur snorted loudly; 'As if you've never killed anything before? Must I remind you of the rat? That certainly wasn't alive when you forced it down my throat' 'Excuse me, I did not force it down your throat! You were hungry, you wanted food, you should be thankful I got you anything at all!' Merlins affronted tones had suddenly drifted closer to his ear than expected and he twisted rapidly in his saddle to find himself riding side by side with his disgruntled servant; he mimicked 'Excuse _me_, I don't wish to ride with a hypocrite!' 'Tough luck, you brought me! I would've happily stayed at home!' 'Moaning again, Merlin? There's a surprise!' 'If you weren't the King…' Arthur shot an amused look at his friend and teased 'you'd what? If I wasn't the King, what would _you_ do?' Suddenly, the servants eyes glinted mischeviously as he shot a sly look at his master; 'Well, if you weren't the King…I might just have to go and do _this!_' And with that, he dug his heels into the horses side and began galloping hastily into the distance , calling 'see you on the other side, _Arfur!_' as he went. Arthur grinned childishly as he gripped the reigns of his own horse tightly, forcing his steed to canter towards the blur ahead of them with a shout of 'not if I see you first, _Merly!', _laughing as he rode.

When the two men had finally caught up with each other in the clearing, panting and exhausted they slid from their saddles and sunk down heavily into the long grass, Merlin's grin almost wider than his face. 'What are you so happy about?' He shrugged innocently and smiled 'oh nothing, just…I beat you…' 'Ha! You did not beat me, I clearly got here first…' 'No, I beat you.' 'You did not!' 'Oh yes, I did…' 'No, you didn't…' 'Children, please!' Both men started suddenly, as a cheerful voice burst into the clearing. Arthur's sword swung in front of him as he leapt to his feet, glancing round in alarm. 'Oh put the sword away, Arthur, it's only us…' Gwaine continued, casually dismounting his own steed and gesturing lazily to the rest of the knights before continuing; '…the Knights you keep heartlessly abandoning to go gallivanting off with Merlin? Ring any bells?' The King sent a scowl towards his men before muttering 'Oh, shut up Gwaine'. Tossing his hair back, the Knight simply raised his eyebrows towards the sniggering servant and added 'I hope you did beat him, Merlin' before winking and striding off to relive himself.

Most people assume that all sorcerers hate fire. Well…all sorcerers that've heard of Uther Pendragon anyway, but for Merlin; fire fascinates him. The way it can scold the sharpest sword, brighten the darkest room and effortlessly crumble anything it touches. It was the first spell he learnt as a child; to hold a flame in one hand and a bucket of water in one hand, releasing steam from his window and almost stopping his mothers heart. And now, watching Arthurs battle-touched face melt into the soft light of the flame, Merlin smiled proudly at the memory, his head tipping softly onto the warmed log behind him. One by one the Knights slumped where they sat, finally giving into the lathargic energy emmited from the fire until only Merlin and Arthur remained awake, gazing heavy eyed into the dying flames. Suddenly the King shifted across the circle to sit beside Merlin, his cloak fluttering drangerously across the hot pile of logs as he walked, saying nothing but simply offering a tired smile to the servant before relaxing into the grass.

'Merlin…' Merlins foggy mind struggled to surface as the soft whisper reached his ears. He was slumped sideways against something incredibly soft and incredibly comfortable, tucked companionly into its curve and was stubbornly reluctant to move. 'Merlin!' The silvery voice shook him again, and with a hushed grunt, he grudgingly opened his eyes and lifted his head. The soft pillow he'd imagined in his half-concious state raised up slightly as the pressure subsided, and, although it took him longer then he'd cared to admit, considering the obvious outline of the man beneath him, he finally realised where he'd fallen asleep, and hurriedly backed away in shock. 'Merlin!' There it was. That voice again! But upon realising that it was not an irate Arthur, berating him furiously for treating him as his own personal matress, was not Gwaine, making crude innuendos towards the pair and grinning smugly, Merlin stood up slowly, ears practically twitching at the sound. He whispered a soft 'hello?', carefully bending down to retrieve Arthurs sword from his side until a sharp 'don't!' startled him into standing again. This time the voice was urgent, reprimanding even, yet soft and sweet in his memory. With an almost endless turn, Merlin rotated elegantly in the darkness, and prepared himself, yet again, to face his Freya. Stepping carefully away from Arthur and the cooling fire, he began to jog softly over to the gleaming lake, eyes desperately searching for any trace, any sign of her in the water until he reached its edge. With a hesitant glance at the group behind him, he crouched down on the embankment and touched one hand to the glistening water in front of him, a gently 'Freya?' ghosting his lips.

Cold. Why is it so cold? Arthur's bleary eyes forced themselves open against his will, determined to find the source of his sudden chill, mend it immediately and let him go back to sleep. But all he found in the first few seconds of waking was a fuzzy pile of cooling ashes, a smooth curve of flattened grass and a curious urge to rub his shoulder. Allowing himself a lazy stretch, he heaved himself up slightly, glancing up at the adamantly bright orb hanging in the sky above him, and turned to find his water skin. And stopped. Merlin was stood, no, splayed out against the inky backdrop, face turned away him, arms spread wide, illuminated and glowing in the moon light, feet rocking ever so carefully over the edge of the steep cliff joining the embankment. Below him, the previously calm lake was thrashing widely, each wave crashing noisily against the shore, no longer still and gleaming, it was black and hungry, almost cavenous in the night. Arthur's heart jolted at the look on the his friends face. Fear. . His feet managed to shake themselves awake and the King began to run desperately toward the lake, short calls of 'Merlin!' 'Merlin, stop!' echoing in the silent clearing around him. His boots pounded the grass heavily, his breath seemed to catch in chest. He blinked. And Merlin fell.

His back arched gracefully as his shirt billowed around him, his feet curving right over the grassy edge, falling. Tumbling. Flying. Gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_His back arched gracefully as his shirt billowed around him, his feet curving right over the grassy edge, falling. Tumbling. Flying. Gone._

A whisper of a scarf slid from his neck as he flew, fluttering softly onto the grass, gentle and still, despite the steady drum of Arthurs feet. 'Merlin!' hoarse voiced and bewildered, he fell heavily to his knees, hands scrabbling desperately at the muddy edge, leaning dangerously towards the water with a cry. There was nothing. The once restless water was innocently lapping against the shore, taunting him with its black emptiness. There was no splash, there should've been a noise. Scrambling up, Arthur tore off his shirt and boots and without a second look flung himself into its shadowed depths. His dive was unsteady and panicked, and he landed with a painful slap against the solidity of the lake. It was so cold. Snatching a quick lungful of air, he burrowed his head once again. The water was clear and fresh, but that made it no easier to see through. Arthur pushed around frantically, hands reaching out for an arm, a torso, a face, but closing over nothing. Stupidly, he let out another cry of 'Merlin?' and as large bubbles left his lips, a stream of water flooded his mouth, its salty taste making him choke.

Forcing his heavy feet to pedal, he tried to re-surface again, but the cold, unforgiving darkness was disorientating. Which way was up, again? His sore, unfocussed eyes caught sight of a pale object floating up beside him. He tried to reach for it. It twitched pathetically. His arms were completely numb. The urge to cough was slowly fading, and his body just seemed to drift through the water. His eyelids drooped. The dark water became the darkness of his mind. Nothing.

Something. A white shape danced in front of his face and he tried to drag his hand up to it. There was warmth, now, closing around his wrist, a thin strip curved around his waist. He was moving. Gliding through the water, but not to the air, not to the surface. Down. Submerging. But that was ok. He was tired now. He could sleep in the darkness. The rushing water coarsed noisily through his ears, lifting his hair and breeches weightlessly, until; 'Arthur!'The buzzy sound flitted around his head, muffled and confusing, and he took a breath, trying to answer it. 'Wuur?' he exhaled, weightedly turning his head. Slowly opening his drowsy eyes, he took in another breath. And another. 'I…I'm breathhhinnn?' he slurred, searching for the source of the warmth coiled around him. It was blue.

Suddenly the water wasn't there anymore. He wasn't floating. He was standing at he bottom of the lake, but he was breathing? His left arm began to shake, and he glanced down at it. There was a pale hand, wrapped in a dark blue cloth frantically rocking his arm, jolting his shoulder, jolting his head. The muscles in his face awoke into a frown as he said 'Merlin?' The pale, anxious face in front of him broke into a relived smile as he ran his other hand through his short, water laden hair. The Kings bleary eyes followed the path of his servants hand, his hair, his face, his bare neck. Where's his scarf? Then he remembered. 'Merlin!' 'Yes, I think we've covered that bit' 'You…You jumped off a cliff, you idiot!' Merlin quirked his eyes to Arthurs awkwardly for a second. 'I had to.' Forgetting that he was currently stuck to the bottom of a lake, black as pitch and forbidding, forgetting that he was the King of Camelot, forgetting that his Knights were probably waking confusedly somewhere above him, Arthur began to shout: 'You had to? What on earth for? Wha…were you just so unhappy with whatever it was that you had to try and drown yourself? Was it a joke? Are you somehow possessed? Merlin, tell me, because I really don't understand!'. The servants mouth curved into a tiny, shy little smile as he gazed to Arthurs face suddenly and uttered warmly 'You jumped…into a freezing cold lake…to save me?'. Unimpressed arms folded across the King's chest as a stern eyebrow quirked at the sentiment. 'I…um…thank you, Arthur, but I'm fine, really.' 'Merlin…' they both glanced up at the intruding whisper. Merlin eyes straying cautiously back to his masters as he cleared his throat and said firmly 'Arthur, I'd like you to meet Freya'.


	3. Chapter 3

'Hang on, hang on, hang on! Before we do the big, enigmatic introductions, would you kindly tell me, _Mer_lin, why, and more over _how _we are standing at the bottom of huge black lake? It's impossible!' For once in his life, his servant actually had the grace to look sheepish, as he tucked his hands behind his back, and with a quick glance at the shadowy girl behind him, gave an apprehensive; 'that would be the result of…magic, sire?'.

'Yes, I'd rather gathered that but what would you…'

'Merlin?' the silvery voice echoed out around his ears again, and this time a small, almost translucent hand slipped from between the shadows, reaching out to his servant until it closed itself around the back of his shirt. Merlin turned at the touch, but still kept a wary eye on the King in front of him. 'Arthur, listen. I know you have questions, and I'm sorry…' he bowed his head slightly; 'I'm so so sorry, but I can't answer them. Well, not right now anyway. Freya…' the grip around Merlins shirt tightened as a slim wrist, an arm, a shoulder shuffled into the watery light.

It was a young girl, hair dark and long, face rounded by the shadows behind her, a long purple gown tousled by the water surrounding them. Suddenly, as her eyes sought Merlin's, her pale, frightened face lit up into a beatific smile and something, just something, seemed to brighten the liquid around them.

Casting one last look at Arthur's bewildered face, the servant spun to catch the girl in his arms, fingers threading through her hair and dress, face hidden in her neck as she grinned into his cheek. There was a whisper of 'I missed you…' before the arms around her tightened again.

Freya? This witch was Freya? From the way Merlin spoke of her, Arthur had expected riches and glamorous beauty! A lost sibling, or childhood friend, yet he'd embraced her like a lover;

'Merlin…' Suddenly the couple broke apart, eyes darting to the Kings face as he spoke, but their fingers remained entwined. Suddenly, Arthur locked his gaze with the girl's, almost accidently, but her eyes seem to search for something inside him, taking in his stance, his arm reached out, almost unperceptively towards Merlin, his very presence in this underwater cavern. And then she found it.

She angled herself back towards the boy in her arms again, and placed a gentle hand along his jaw, grinning fondly as her fingers graced his ear teasingly. 'Merlin. Oh my Merlin, I truly have missed you. But our spell won't last forever, the water won't hold. You have to go home.'

Merlin tilted his head to the side, a confused frown gracing his features as he said 'but…I only just got here. I've only just found you! I…I don't want to go!' Merlin's voice was cracked and petulant, his fingers gripping the girl's sides desperately. It wasn't fair. There was a shuffling behind the pair, as Arthur tactfully turned his back, feigning a loyal interest in the black wall of water beside them, fingers twisting nervously as he tried not to panic, to reach out to his servant, to pull them both back to the air and ground above them.

Freya shot him a small smile before continuing sadly 'I know, and I almost wish I could keep you here, with me…but I think someone else out there needs you more than I do.' Leaning up upon her tiptoes, she placed a gentle kiss to his cheek, and whispered 'time to go home, my love'.

Merlin's head tipped back gracefully as he fell, his back arching again, in a terrifying mirror of his earlier dive, and Arthur leapt to catch him, arms encircling him carefully. His eyes fluttered shut. Freya's hand was at Arthur's hair, the pads of her fingers just trailing the top of his head gently. She spoke softly again 'I had no choice, he wouldn't have left…' At Arthur's hard stare, she promised hurriedly 'I will send you both home, I swear! But you must promise me something…'

The King let out a disbelieving snort before the girl whispered 'look after him?'.

Cold. Merlin was cold. A cool breeze fluttered through his hair, lifting it slightly as he roused himself. He was back on land again, his head leaning heavily against Arthur's shoulder, as the King himself awoke, his deep breaths turning into short pants as he braced himself against the cool night air. They were home.

'Merlin?' Arthur had asked later that day, the Knights stomping their feet in the distance, trying to stave off the cold. It was just the two of them, Merlin pretending to arrange the firewood, Arthur pretending to watch him. 'Yes?' 'Who was she?' A rueful smile spread across the servants face, his eyes drifting away to a point between the trees as he replied 'she was my Freya.'

Many years later, a young boy sat at the feet of his new sorcerer friend, the mans long white beard almost reaching his feet and his Pendragon red robe rippling in the breeze as he laughed 'The King was so jealous! He'd never admit it to this day, but I could see it in his eyes. Imagine that, the King of Albion, jealous of a simple serving boy like me!' The small shifted to look up at him. 'You knew him? You really knew the King of Albion?' A cheeky smile graced the old mans tired face as he said 'Oh yes. I knew him very well' 'So…what was he like? I mean, really?' Wrinkled fingers reached up to touch the embroidered dragon on his chest, still roaring proudly after all these years, and replied 'he was my Arthur'.


End file.
